


Huckleberry

by WolfyWordWeaver



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Western, Derogatory Language, F/M, First Meetings, Gun Violence, M/M, Mild Language, Period Typical Attitudes, Racial slurs, Slurs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-11
Updated: 2020-01-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:07:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22203820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WolfyWordWeaver/pseuds/WolfyWordWeaver
Summary: One dusty morning in a small town in the middle of the Wild West a gunfight brings the best gunslinger of the Greyback Boys face-to-face with the legendary Black Grim. Who's got the fastest hands in the West?
Relationships: James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Comments: 15
Kudos: 37





	Huckleberry

**Author's Note:**

> This is a Western wolfstar AU inspired by the lovely fic "Desperado" by fluorescentgrey. I have taken creative liberties with the Wild West era but have tried to keep it all reasonable and fun. This was almost entirely written with "The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly" theme playing on repeat, so you're welcome to read it with that as the soundtrack.
> 
> Here are a couple of quick warnings: there are a couple uses of the n----- word and period typical racism and even hinted at period typical homophobia

Dust blew across the compacted path that led down towards the dried up town and Remus pulled the bandanna that was already tied across his face a bit higher. He was glad to be riding at the front of the gang in his usual position just behind Fenrir instead of the back where the dust was being kicked up the most. They had been rather short of water this past week and without even a hint of rain on the horizon they were finally taking the risk of crossing paths with the Death Eaters to resupply. And get a nice stiff drink.

"You're looking a bit pale there, Lupin," a familiar voice growled ahead of him.

The teen was thankful that the bandanna covered his frown. "Just thirsty, Alpha."

"Ain't we all," Fenrir grumbled, sharp eyes canvassing all the roads leading towards the town. "I don't think we'll run into the Death Eaters today. Heard there was already a shootout recently."

"Where'd you hear that?" 

Those eyes turned back to study him and the dry skin crinkled around the eyes revealing the smile that the large man was wearing under his own bandanna. "You know that I've got eyes and ears everywhere." Fenrir's thick forefinger tapped his own covered nose and Remus looked down at the pommel of the saddle he rode. The deep scar cutting across Remus' nose was one of many that he had received first-hand from Fenrir for his rebellious nature. 

"Should we be expecting resistance from the local authorities? We're pretty well beat."

That meaty hand patted his shoulder heavily. "Nothing we can't handle. Keep your pistols greased and ready."

"Sure thing, Alpha."

Pulling out a small glass bottle from his shirt pocket, Remus took a few drops of laudanum to steady his nerves and then pulled out his pistols to make sure they were loaded and operating perfectly. He knew it would all be in order as he was in the habit of checking his pistols multiple times a day, but he never wanted to risk a poor assumption on something that his life depended on. He tried not to stare at the still raw knuckle where his left ring finger was missing. It had become infected a few times already and he had worried about potentially losing other fingers. He would need all the fingers he could keep if he was going to continue being an effective sharpshooter. As soon as he lost his usefulness he lost his life - simple as that.

Wiping at his dry eyes for good measure, he took deep calming breaths in the acrid air, trying not to cough with the thick scent of decomposition as they moved past the dump. He was already used to the putrid scent that the gang carried around with them but smelling the vile dump reminded him of how much all of them probably smelled just like that. Filthy, blood and gore covered men who barely bathed and thought it was pleasant to wear body parts as trophies. It was all rather disgusting in Remus' opinion which is why he wore no such trophies. He only spared his dusty and stained clothes a brief disgusted glance and then focused on the streets. There were already people out and about and all of them with suspicious eyes. He couldn't blame the bystanders - all members of the gang were wearing the colors of the Greyback Boys.

They came to a stop outside of the local saloon, a worn down chamber pot of a place called Hog's Head. Dismounting easily, Remus kept an eye on the people whispering and shuffling around them. Everyone was giving them a wide berth and he was grateful for it. He really didn't want to spill any blood so early in the already hot day. Shamelessly dunking his head into the filthy horse trough, he relished the coolness of the water before straightening up and trying to shove the unruly curls out of his eyes. Just then, a familiar glint of metal caught his eye and he wheeled around with both hands on his pistols in warning.

"Fenrir," he rumbled through the wet cloth still over his face. 

**

James Potter was already sweating bullets and it wasn't even noon yet. He had squeezed Lily's arm nervously when he first caught sight of the gang riding into town before rushing off to find Judge Dumbledore. The town was barely recovering from the shootout with the Death Eaters a few days ago and his shooting arm was still in a sling, useless for combat. The two men had spoken in rushed gritty words, and as he walked towards the dismounting gang James tried to swallow down the lump in his throat. Brown eyes glanced over at the open window with the fluttering lace curtains where Lily was standing stiffly, a rifle in her arms and her sharp green eyes following his path. Hell, he loved that woman and he gave her a crooked smile which she did not return. She just watched.

His dark skin was already burning in the heat of the sun but he continued to move forward towards the group of men. Keeping his pistol in its holster, James made sure that his good arm was clearly visible so that he didn't give the impression of any kind of aggression. When the young man dunking his head into the trough whipped around and had his hands on his side pieces it was all that James could do to keep from reacting in kind. Sweat tickled at the back of his neck as he watched those twitchy fingers; the kid was pretty damn fast and might be able to out shoot him even with a fully functioning arm. 

"Hello there, Marshall!" the large brute of a man that had to be Fenrir greeted before pulling down the bandanna covering his face and grinning with yellowed and sharpened teeth. It was a frightening sight combined with the scalps hanging from his belt and the fingers strung up around his neck, one still looking fresh.

"Good day," he greeted with a smile. "Fenrir Greyback, I presume?"

"Presumed rightly, nigger," he responded, the smile never wavering. "And these are the Greyback Boys."

The twitchy kid never moved his eyes from James and the mixed-ethnicity Marshall had the distinct impression of being hunted. Those eyes were almost too focused to be human.

"Welcome to Godric's Hollow," he continued warmly. "What's your business here?"

"Getting a feel for the place," Fenrir replied easily. He continued staring down his nose at the younger man and his grin was every bit as feral as it was pleasant. "Heard that the Death Eaters run the adjoining counties."

"They're bad for business," James replied and he heard the kid snort in amusement. The whole gang could see the bullet holes still evident in the facades and windows of the main street. 

"They might be good fun to ride with," Fenrir purred and James struggled to keep the calm mask on his face. 

That's all he needed to guarantee a death sentence for himself and any law-abiding citizen in this part of the country. The Greyback Boys were a known rough and tumble gang that thrived on the hunt and kill, going after the Natives just as violently as they went after the whites. They killed Union men and Confederates without distinction, never leaving a robbing job without murdering someone. But for as vicious and bloodthirsty as they were, this gang didn't seem to have much of a goal outside of causing as much chaos and damage as they could. They had no higher calling or noble cause to push them onto greater things. The Boys lived and died for Fenrir Greyback only. 

Death Eaters were a whole different brand of outlaw, the very worst that you could ever imagine. Led by the insane yet genius Tom Marvolo Riddle, this gang had a higher calling of cleansing the world of the weak and depraved. What they considered weak and depraved was anything that they didn't like - colored people, abolitionists, Lincoln supporters, the Federal Government, the Mexican Government, and anyone who had the notion that people from the lower and middle class could climb the social ladder regardless of where they were born. The gang dealt in spreading drugs through the country to enslave the immigrants, in human trafficking to supply the stubborn families that refused to acknowledge the Emancipation Proclamation, and in murdering anyone that disagreed with them or were otherwise deemed useless. They were a multi-pronged criminal organization that was good at evading any law enforcement agencies that came their way, but the only area that they could use more help with was the wild savagery of gangs like the Greyback Boys as enforcers and defenders.

Rumor had it that Fenrir himself was half Apache and the wildness of his person made James want to believe that but having been born to a black father and a white mother, James was no stranger to the misconceptions that people often had of other ethnicities. Riddle would never truly accept a half-breed like Fenrir as equal to his most loyal members, but he wasn't below using him for his own devices. And at this point, James couldn't tell if Fenrir was the type of man to care or not about being seen as equal so long as he had blood to spill. 

"If you intend to ride with the Death Eaters, I'd kindly ask you to move along. You're another day out from one of their towns. Godric's Hallow is still a town with laws to be respected, Mr. Greyback." The words were spoken with gentility, but his eyes were as cold as he could manage. The body language of the whole gang changed to be slightly more aggressive, but they were all looking towards Fenrir for their orders. They had all been well-trained and operated like a loyal pack of dogs. 

"What if I said no, Law Dog?" Fenrir challenged, still smiling widely and James saw the twitchy kid widen his stance a little more to be better grounded if shots were fired. The boy was already out for blood.

"I'm not scared of another shootout," he responded easily, ignoring the spreading moisture of sweat across the back of his shirt. 

This made the large man bark out a wild laugh. "With that bum arm, nigger?"

"I'm a pretty quick draw regardless."

"How about a one-on-one gunfight with Lupin here?" Fenrir shot back. "If you're so quick to the draw."

The boy pulled down the bandanna from his face and James couldn't keep the blood from draining from his face. Remus "Moony" Lupin already had quite the reputation as one of the fastest guns in the West and he had two good and eager hands. James would be down to his non-dominant hand for a gunfight - it was certain death.

"Remus 'Moony' Lupin?"

"That's right, boy," Fenrir sneered. "How about if you win the gunfight we'll skedaddle along to the next town, but if he wins then we give this whole town as a welcome gift to that Riddle guy? Sounds fair to me."

"I'll only use one hand too," Moony stated. "It's only fair."

James looked down at his sling and tried not to bite his lip in nervousness. There were plenty of people out and about now watching the whole thing unfold. The townsfolk were already scared about the violence that had been sweeping through lately and the shootout from a few days ago had left everyone reeling. Even Dumbledore who had always been a calm and reasonable man had been shaken. No reinforcements were being sent their way regardless of all the letters that they sent pleading for help. The War was keeping all the governments busy and away from the West, leaving it open to the law of the locals. He didn't have a choice in the matter. There weren't enough law abiding deputies in the county to put up a decent fight against the experience that these boys had. And boys they were, ranging from what looked like 12-year-olds to a couple in their early twenties. James was only 19 years old himself, but he had seen enough in his short years to feel that he was so much older.

"What do you say, Law Dog? Do you think you can stand a gunfight?"

There was no sound in the entire town as everyone held their breath for the answer. Even the incessant wind paused for a moment. It was this utter silence that made the words next spoken ring out as clear as a boulder tumbling down a canyon wall.

"I'm your Huckleberry."

Everyone startled, turning to see a lone figure casually leaning against a porch pillar. A tightly rolled tube of tobacco hung from wickedly curved lips while one hand rested easily against his belly, its fingers drumming out an unknown tune on the material of his gaudy red vest. The man's other hand was hidden behind his back, a gesture that usually indicated a pistol held out of sight. James could barely breathe as he took in the rest of the figure. Black alligator boots, black slacks, shiny leather holster with two pistols, red and gold vest over a plain white button-up. Sun kissed skin that still looked too pale for a man of the desert, ebony hair that fell gracefully over his shoulders topped by a sharp bowler hat, sharp straight nose that had never been broken in a fight, and grey eyes cool enough to provide relief from the heat that descended on the town.

"Who the hell-" one of the boys started before Greyback lifted his hand in irritation. He looked a little uncomfortable with the addition of this man in the conversation. 

"Why, Fenrir Greyback you ol' wolf," the young man spoke up again, his cigarette bouncing dangerously between his lips. "It's been too long."

"Hello, Black," the towering man growled, sweat beading on his heavy brow.

"Sirius," James called out in relief. "You damned fool, when did you get into town?"

"Just now," he replied smoothly, no dust on his clothes or sweat on his skin.

**

Remus had been startled by the unexpected voice just as much as everyone else had been, but when he heard the man's name he blanched.

"B-black?" one of the boy's whispered to his left. "As in, 'the Black Grim' Black?!"

"Shut up," he hissed, but he completely understood the tone of panic. 

He had never seen the Black Grim in person before but he had heard enough tales whispered through the different towns in the West to make him clench the pistols in his holsters. However, as Remus studied the man before them, his mouth seemed to go dry for a completely different reason.

"Come now, weren't we just talking about shooting holes in each other?" the Black Grim teased as he pushed off from the column and strode out into the dusty street with nary a wrinkle on his impeccable outfit. The way that his lips were moving should have been a crime worth hanging for. "I've heard good things about you Moony," he continued, eyes now focused on the young man instead of Fenrir. 

"I've not heard much about you besides that you're getting on in years," Remus shot back, needing to speak quickly to keep the attention away from his reddening cheeks. "Are you sure that you're still young enough to wield those pieces?" 

It was a pretty lame quip considering that the Grim didn't seem any older than Remus himself, but he was a man that had upheld the title of the Fastest Gunman in the West for going on five years now. It was a title that was usually overcome in a year or two of hard living but the man was becoming a legend. A barking laugh erupted from the swaggering man and he tossed his cigarette to the side with a flourish before tucking his thumb in his belt. The other hand remained behind his back.

"This here is a cheeky bastard, James," the Black Grim continued laughing as he stood next to the town Marshall. "What do you say, Fenrir? Your little pup and I in a friendly game of dueling pistols? He can even use both hands." The grin on his lips was still as pleasant, but his eyes had a sharpness to them that no one could bluff. 

Fenrir took a deep breath and everyone watched as he made his decision. Remus knew that Fenrir wasn't stupid and that the odds were probably in the Black Grim's favor. Yes, Remus knew he was a quick draw, but he hadn't had as many years of experience in one-on-one gunfights. His pistol work was usually in the context of robbing and trick shots for betting. His speed had been increasing a great deal this past year, but could it stand up to this man? This man had more gunfight wins racked up than any other sharpshooter in the West, partly due to the fact that he was a voracious gambler and often got caught in quarrels about cheating. His fancy boy attire gave the impression that he often won at his gambling games too.

Green eyes looked over the boys and Fenrir nodded towards them. All of them had been in the gang for long enough to know what his body language and facial muscles demanded of them. It was a strange talent to have, Remus thought as he ripped the bandanna off his neck entirely, wiping it across his brow before tossing it into the dust. He strode forward and it was a thrill to see the crowds of people immediately move away and off to the sides to clear the street. The Marshall whispered something into the gunman's ear before walking off to stand in the relative safety of the porch in front of the barber shop. The dust blew up again with another harsh breeze, but Remus was studying his opponent as he strode forward in his own roughed up leather boots. 

That dryness was still in his mouth as he raked his eyes over the easily confident figure. The man was just slightly shorter than he was and bore an unusual air about him, one that indicated an upper class upbringing. That didn't make sense at all as he depended on gambling and the occasional bounty hunt for his entire income if the rumor mill was to be believed. His clothes were beautiful and well maintained, even a bit ostentatious. The gold embroidery thread shone brightly from his silk vest and the designs had a very Oriental look to them. It complimented his longer hair and high cheek bones and Remus wondered if maybe he had Oriental blood running through his veins. Maybe he was the bastard son of a Cattle Baron and an Oriental concubine? The exposed hand with fingers tapping carelessly against his stomach was large and masculine, the fingers slender not thick and clumsy. Remus wondered exactly how milky that skin under the vest was and if it would taste of sweat before shaking his head to clear it of such nonsense. This wasn't a saloon whore he was gaping at but a seasoned killer. 

Wiping his hands on his own dusty slacks, Remus settled into his stance and held his hands at the ready position. The Black Grim seemed to be studying him as well and the smile never left his lips. His face was too darn beautiful to belong to a man living the rough life that they led. As he stood opposite of Remus, the young outlaw felt even more out of his league. They were complete opposites it seemed. He was filthy and half-starved, hair knotted and with a shirt soaked in trough water and horse spittle. Black's clothing and general appearance made him belvidere. Remus' guns were old but functional, a hand-me-down from a dead member of the gang. Both pistols holstered at the Grim's slanted hips had mother-of-pearl handles and filigreed etches along the metal; they were custom. His own face bore the scars of many years of rough living under Fenrir, and this man stood there without a single blemish save for a scar that cut through his left eyebrow. 

Black slowly drew out the hand that had been behind his back and slowly revealed it to be empty, his smile growing wider and sharper. He knew that the hazel eyes were completely focused on him and yet he didn't look unnerved like most people did. As if he were putting on a personal show for Remus, Black lifted both palms up to the teen and then flipped his hands over to show the exposed skin of the back of his hands. Then he uncuffed his sleeves and rolled them up with unnecessary flourishes, and Remus got the message. There were no tricks up his sleeve, just raw speed and aim. Those hands moved slowly and smoothly, almost sensually, and Remus had to choke back the damned desire to imagine what those hands could do to his body. A twinkle in the Grim's eye made Remus wonder if he could read minds too. 

"Are you both ready?" the Marshall asked.

"Yes," Remus grunted, eyes never leaving the man in front of him while his muscles were taut and ready to spring into well-practiced action.

"Of course," the Grim replied, his own hands finally hovering over his polished pistols. 

It was a painful few seconds like it always was. Remus was hyper aware of the hot dusty air he was breathing, the sweat rolling down his neck and back, the stink of the horses, and the hole wearing through his left boot's sole. The weeping wound his missing finger had left behind burned of infection again - not surprising considering their filthy and harried lifestyle. Narrowed eyes could almost see the tiny veins of blood near the pale surface of the Grim's skin, the slight glisten of sweat finally forming under the heat of the sun, the squint of eyes, the curl of lips that said he had already won. He focused hard on those hands, watching for any sign of their moving, gauging whether it would be best for him to draw first. It was his only hope, he knew within a quarter breath and he whipped the pistols out with the speed borne from countless days and nights of practice.

No sooner had his palms met the firm wooden handles than two shots rang out and a third only half a breath later. It was too fast a motion for his body to even freeze in shock and his pistols only froze once they were out of their holsters and aimed at the man who stood there with smoking guns. His shaky breath puffed out in shallow gasps as he felt the blood well up before sliding down his skin.

**

Abraham Lincoln himself could not have brought as much relief to James Potter as the sight of his long-time friend Sirius Black did. That snooty son of a bitch still swaggered like he owned the whole West for his pleasure, but it only brought more fondness to the young Marshall. He knew firsthand what Sirius could do with those pistols and it was more than he could ever achieve even without a sling compromising his dominant hand. Even as he watched the two men study each other and prepare, James pulled out his own pistol and saw his deputy Peter and the Judge Dumbledore do the same. Benjy casually hung his rifle over his legs as he sat astride his horse and the Prewitt brothers had their own pieces out and ready. If the Greyback Boys decided to turn this into a shootout after Moony went down then they would be ready. He knew that Lily would cover him from her vantage point in the upstairs window. 

For a moment, James couldn't help but feel badly for Moony. The twitchy boy had a face full of scars and was missing a finger, all evidence to a life that had not been kind to him. There were probably more scars hidden under his shirt if the scars trailing down from his neck and under his shirt collar were any indication. He was too skinny and bore dark rings under his eyes. That wasn't the life any young man should be living, and yet he had taken that life and had begun to make a name for himself. It wasn't a good name in the eyes of the law, but it was something. He was fast and accurate and given a few more years he might have been able to earn himself a spot in the legends being woven into the West. It was really just poor luck that Sirius Black was in town today. If Sirius had not been here then the story would undoubtedly be different - it would would have been James lying in the dirt, offering his blood to the dusty earth.

Even before the shots rang out, James knew what he would see. Sirius was a bastard and liked to shoot them in the gut so that they would suffer. If he was being generous it would be a shot to the gut and a shot to the head. James hoped he would do that for this boy. Moony didn't deserve a slow death. No one taken in by the feared Fenrir and reared up to be his pet deserved that. Brown eyes focused instead on Fenrir himself knowing that if things went south their best option would be to cut the head off the snake. No one had done that successfully yet, but he was willing to try. These boys could do nothing without their Master and after his death they would be easy pickings. 

One shot, two shots...three?!

James wheeled around to see that instead of having his two pistols pointed towards the still standing Moony, Sirius had one casually tucked under the other outstretched arm's elbow and pointed towards a young man that that immediately fell to the ground screaming. The stranger hadn't ridden in with the gang that morning, but James didn't recognized him as a local. Jerking his attention back to Fenrir and his gang, everyone seemed to have their guns up and ready to shoot, but they all seemed confused as to whether they should fight or not. It took only a second for James to realize why and he let his mouth drop in surprise.

"Now I've gotten to add some more pretty scars to your face, Moony," Sirius teased, completely ignoring the man screaming in pain that Benjy was examining. Blood was gushing out from that wound. James stared at Lupin's face, watching as the blood welled along the two thin cuts along the sides of each cheekbone before the trailed red down his sunken cheeks. Those hazel eyes were wide in horror and confusion. "I'd say that's a win for me, don't you agree?" Black was now looking at Fenrir with that crooked and haughty grin.

Fenrir growled angrily but Judge Dumbledore stepped forward. "What did you shoot that bystander for, Black? You have to be taken in for something like that."

"Judge, he's wearing the Greyback colors!" Benjy called out as he stood up with blood glistening on his hands and forearms. 

"Yeah, I think he just got all excited and wanted in on the fun too," Sirius replied casually. "I don't think that'll I'll be going to jail for that."

"You all should leave now," James ordered, making sure that they could see his pistol being pulled from its holster. 

Before Fenrir could say anything in response, Sirius butted in. "I don't think they should have to go so soon, James."

Everyone stared at the gunslinger in shock as he easily flipped his pistols back into their holsters. "What?"

"The deal you made was for if Moony had a gunfight with you, not me. I say that we let the poor bastards get some food and drink, let them make merry, and then let them be on their happy little way tomorrow." 

He shrugged as if it were perfectly natural to let crazed murderers enjoy a casual stay in one's town. Then again, in this day and age it probably wasn't that outrageous of an idea. Moony was still standing their with his drawn weapons, and his eyes shot over to Fenrir for orders. James knew that it would come down to this beast of a man. Would they be spilling more blood this afternoon or would they be getting cool drinks? Glancing to Sirius, the Marshall was glad to see that Black was casually looking towards the gang leader but with his hand on his pistol. If there was going to be a shootout, he had the right idea too and was fast enough to probably get away with it. Fenrir's head would bring a nice paycheck.

"He...let me live, Alpha," Moony stated clearly but with a tremor in his voice. "He let me live..."

Fenrir snorted like an angry bull and tossed his head before gesturing to the boys with a hand. The weapons were lowered and James could feel the pressure easing up in his chest. "We're just hear for some food and drink anyways."

James made a show of holstering his pistol again, although he kept it lose just in case. "By all means, you are all welcome. I hope you enjoy your stay at Godric's Hollow and I look forward to seeing you all ride out in the morning."

With that, he spared a glance back towards the lace-covered windows and saw that Lily was still standing there, the rifle ready. He smiled at her and nodded comfortingly. They would live another day. Or at least another few hours. 

**

Remus holstered his pistols and allowed his shaky hands to wipe away at the blood dripping down his face. The rest of the Boys were looking around warily, still completely dependent on Fenrir's direction but he was shaken to his core. This wasn't how things worked down here. It was kill or be killed, end of the story. There were no second chances. The cuts that the two bullets sliced into his face burned as his sweaty and dirty hands rubbed into them. That bastard hadn't only drawn and shot much faster than him, but his aim was impeccable. There wasn't a single nick on either of his ears, just these thin lines on his face. He stumbled back to the trough and cupped water into his hands before splashing it over his face and neck as he breathed heavily. Fenrir slapped the back of his head in annoyance, but not hard enough to hurt much. It was his way of saying that he was disappointed in the loss but glad that Remus hadn't died.

"Still need some polishing, little pup," a voice teased from behind him and Remus slowly turned around to face the man again, this time in much closer proximity. 

"We're about the same age," Remus grit out in annoyance at being called a pup.

"Weren't you the one insisting that I was so old and incapable before the gunfight?" the Grim laughed, the sound still very much like the barking of a stray dog. "Change your mind after you lost?"

Remus shoved at that broad chest, embarrassed that his hand left a dusty hand print on the vest. "You should have just killed me, you son of a bitch!" he hissed, the embarrassment blooming in him again. He had not only lost, but had been spared as if he didn't count as a proper threat. 

"I wouldn't do that to you right now," the Grim replied with an easy shrug before pulling a cigarette out of a gold case. "Want one?" He held the metal box out revealing two more paper tubes stuffed with what smelled like quality tobacco. 

Remus snatched one out of the box angrily, trying to hide the fact that his hands were still shaky. It wasn't the first life and death situation he had been in, but this was the closest he had actually come to dying. "Why the fuck not? Don't see me as a damn threat? Well you're fucking wrong about that!"

The Black Grim flicked his wrist gracefully to ignite the end of the match and then he suddenly grasped the back of Remus' head to still him as he put the tiny flame up to the end of the cigarette. Hazel eyes widened in renewed shock at the intimate gesture, cheeks turning red as the hand slid across the back of his neck and along his jawline as it was retracted to create a shield from the wind as he used the same match to light the end of his cigarette. Sparks danced along his skin where that calloused hand traveled and he took a few deep breaths from the cigarette to try to calm down. Those grey eyes danced with mirth.

"I wouldn't kill you, Moony, because you're a daisy. And it would be wrong to pluck you the fuck up before you've properly bloomed."

Remus stared at the man and wondered at the nonsense he was spewing. "The fuck does that mean?"

A pink tongue peeked out to drag along the pale lower lip slowly and then the man gave him a wink. "You should stick around to find out, Moony."

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Any other fans of Doc Holliday in the movie "Tombstone"? :D
> 
> This was a real delight to write and I hope that you've enjoyed it. Let me know if you'd like more to come from this AU in the future! If you're looking for a work that's more historically accurate, full of the best fighting scenes in the fandom, angsty, and deeply poetic, please give "Desperado" by fluorescentgrey a read.


End file.
